


Impressions

by DemonLollipop



Series: Ask Me Why I Did It [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Drabble Collection, F/F, F/M, Modern Girl in Thedas, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-17
Updated: 2018-05-08
Packaged: 2019-03-20 11:39:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13716927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DemonLollipop/pseuds/DemonLollipop
Summary: A little collection of drabbles on the Soulmate Squads first impressions of Rowan! Some will be longer than others, and this will update with each soulmate that Rowan meets.





	1. Grief and Guilt

Contrary to popular belief, the first meeting between people isn't always the time they exchange words. Cassandra had always quietly believed in fate, in the whirlwind romance destined for her by the Maker in the Marks that graced her skin.

 

The loss of Regaylen dashed that belief.

 

Cassandra had known it the moment the Breach had opened, had felt his gilded Mark go black the same time the Temple had gone up in flames in smoke.

 

The black had spread further when she was informed of the missing Divine and the sudden appearance of the only survivor, a woman who went unconscious the moment she appeared through a rift.

 

The next few days before the woman awoke, Cassandra was doing damage control and distancing herself from the building grief in her chest. Demons took the unknown woman's face as Cassandra imagined it, from old to young, from elf to human to dwarf and back. The only thing she truly knew about the woman was that the scouts had said she had hair the color of fire and wore a pale cream dress.

 

Each demon died with that image in Cassandra’s mind, until finally, curiosity and anger warring within her, Cassandra visited the prisoner's cell.

 

Part of her, the part that screamed with grief, told her to bring her sword and cut the woman's head off, that she was the cause of all this, she deserved to die.

 

The other part, the part honed by Seekers and Justinia alike, simply told her that the woman could be as innocent as she could be guilty and that killing her would do no good without knowing.

 

Even so, Cassandra left her sword and weapons with the jailor guards and entered the dungeon.

 

Cassandra’s first thought seeing the woman was that the scouts were correct. The prisoner's wild curls were the color of warm fire, haloed around a youthful face creased by pain. Her figure was slight and soft, arms lightly muscled but covered by a layer of fat that spoke of years of good food and a peaceful life.

 

The dress was another story. A cream dress could be anything, and Cassandra’s mind had conjured something extravagant, something a noble would wear to a ball or party, accented by a mask and painted smile. But the dress covering the prisoners soft, pale figure was more akin to a nightgown worn by a peasant girl. Thin fabric, dotted with tiny red and blue flowers, draped itself over curves and dips, made for a farm girl instead of a princess.

 

Cassandra found herself stepping closer and touched the young woman’s cheek, hoping to feel something dark within her, the tainted feel of blood magic or lyrium.

 

Instead, the magic coiled beneath her skin was sweet and childlike in its wonder, reaching for her with curious tendrils. And most surprising was that the prisoner’s face, creased by pain and covered in sweat, relaxed at her touch and leaned gently into her hand, like a flower seeking the sun.

 

Cassandra left quickly after that and when days later a scout came to retrieve her, saying that the prisoner had awoken, the part that screamed for the prisoner's death was silent and still.


	2. Flowers and Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leliana's impression!

Leliana’s first impression had gone much the way of Cassandra’s except for the fact that unlike the Seeker, Leliana’s merciful voice had been the quiet one.

 

The woman had gone to the dungeons with the intention of hurting her prisoner, intent on waking the woman up with pain. Perhaps even taking Dorothea’s death out on her with knives and bloodshed.

 

When she arrived, she did none of this, for Cassandra had already beaten her to the prisoner. 

 

Leliana watched as Cassandra silently looked at the woman, covered only by a thin dress and a thinner blanket over her legs. She watched as Cassandra touched her cheek, and the girl leans into the Seekers callused hand. The Seeker shuddered minutely and flinched back as if burned by the prisoners wild strawberry curls. 

 

Soon enough, Cassandra left, either oblivious to Leliana in the shadows, or uncaring. Or perhaps, Leliana thought after looking into Cassandra’s face, she was too preoccupied with her own thoughts to greet the Left Hand.

 

Nonetheless, Leliana walked into the cell with nary a glance in her direction. The bard knelt quietly towards the now-whimpering girl, watching her try to find the Seekers touch. Instead, she got a silent knife pressed to her neck and a hand tangled in her hair.

 

Even unconscious, the girl shied away from the cold metal, her eyes flickering under closed lids. A strong will to live then. Leliana pressed the metal harder into her neck, and-

 

_ Stopped _ .

 

Across her collarbone, just hiding beneath the ash covered cream dress was a soulmark. Vibrant gold, written in a harsh, skittering hand. Looking closer, Leliana lifted her arms and saw that they too were littered with Marks, gold, bronze, and silver. Soft calligraphy, harsh scratches, and flowing script had all meshed together onto this girl skin.

 

On her arms and collar alone, Leliana counted five, each showcasing a different personality and relationship.

 

Leliana sheathed her knife after a moment and sighed. So many loves had been lost, along with too many lives. 

 

As she stood, part of her wanted to cross out each mark she found, mark them until they were unreadable, but the other part said no, surely someone so unkind would not have so many loves. The warden’s, her warden’s, face flickered into her mind. 

 

Partha Aeducan had been sweet and ruthless, Marked by not only Leliana but Morrigan, Alistair, and Zevran. She was the bright spot amongst them, kind but powerful, armed with a silver tongue and an iron sword. 

 

Unwillingly, Partha’s sleeping face replaced the prisoners and Leliana’s heart lurched. 

 

She would be merciful for now. 

 

If only to know what kind of person this girl was, to know who would be so Marked that the words nearly ran together, separated only by the hand of those who said them.

 

Leliana didn't know if she should feel happy or angry when days later, the prisoner said her words, choking on tears and wondered if it would have been better to kill the girl while she slept.


	3. Color and Summer Untamed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas' Impression

When Solas volunteers to watch the girl burdened with the Anchor, he expects something different. He expects a noble perhaps, with soft hands and a harsh temper. He expects a woman with a single Mark, blackened perhaps, that says her name or title. He expects an empty husk of a person, dulled by the Veil.

 

He gets a farm girl instead. Her hands, while soft, are lightly scarred by burns and there are tiny pen calluses on her fingers. The magic beneath her skin is vibrant, sparkling violet and white, bringing memories of a summer storm. It mingles and pushes against his own as he works to remove, and then repair the Anchor in her hand when he realizes it will not leave. 

 

It lingers on his skin when he lets her hands go to apply salve to a cut on her neck, made by a sharp knife. It jumps to life when he peels the blanket back to access the muscles of her legs, trying to find any more injuries. When his fingers caress the smooth metal of her leg, it is curiously quiet as his fingers linger on the joint of her knee.

 

Solas wonders what life she must have lived to be so vibrant in such a dull world, and pushes the thought away, assuming the Anchor must be why.

 

He is fighting alongside the dwarf, Varric Tethras, when he feels the magic again, untamed and wild. Shades die by the blade of the Seeker as he catches sight of the woman amongst the fire and rubble near the rift. 

 

The color of her hair is nothing compared to the color of her eyes, filled with verdant fire. They are glued to the rift and he can feel the mingling of his old construct and her magic reaching out, expanded beyond what it should be.

 

He aids her in closing the rift in whatever way he can, coaxing the summer of her magic to touch the tear in the world and feels her go past his reach and sew the world shut. Violet is the wrong color for her, he decides, looking into her eyes as she turns to his, mouth curling softly over the words of his other soulmark.

 

Green is a much better color on her skin. 


	4. A Writers Curse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varric's impression!

Unlike the others, Varric doesn't meet her when she is unconscious.

 

He meets her when she is standing, weary and weak, in the midst of battle and he thinks that she might stay that way, smiling over the pain and faking emotions.

 

He is wrong. He is not often.

 

Soon enough, he realizes she really was meant for him. Her pain hides behind a smile, and determination is in her every step, even when faced with pain. Rowan is as stubborn as Hawke, with a cutting humor and a temper like a rolling storm.

 

He has to watch as she gets past the loss of her leg as she climbs stairs, hear about the beating she received when she woke up and find out she is still so young. He sees with a writer's eyes as she cuts down wraiths with the tip of her staff, sparking with violet that clashes with the dripping emerald in her hand.

 

He watches in horror as she falls to her knees after sealing a rift, panting and almost retching, cradling the mark to her chest. Rowan is talked to gently by Chuckles, the elves' words too quiet to hear.

 

When the Breach expands on the bridge in the midst of their planning, Varric is prepared to catch her, but instead, she keeps her feet and screams like a dragon, roaring her pain into the bleeding sky.

 

He finds himself ready to catch her often and sees that she rarely needs it, even when climbing ladders up a mountain with only her arms.Even after the brutality that is her fighting, she shows tenderness when closing the eyes of a scout, torn from neck to belly, laying in the snow. The sorrow in her eyes makes him want to take her to Kirkwall, hide her away in the Hanged Man and have her meet Daisy.

 

She would like Daisy, he thinks. They have the same smile.

 

Then, she bolts like Hawke does, down a hill and he follows, finding her as a Rift opens, blossoming like a Deathroot flower. He shouts at her and wishes he could take it back when she just blinks at him innocently.

 

They save the scouts eventually, but not before Rowan punches the Seeker trying to save Chuckles. The Seeker gives her no punishment for that, only a lecture and a slight smile when Rowan says she’ll try not to punch her again.

 

Her words in the Temple make cold run down his spine and the look in her eyes when she sees the Breach for the first time freezes him in his tracks. Blank eyes, reflecting the terrible wound in the sky and soft, dancing step towards it as if she doesn't realize what she’s doing.

 

Chuckles stops her before she goes over the edge of the broken railing and Varric is grateful that someone was quick enough to do something. He keeps close to her as they go further into the Temple, glaring at the staring archers and guiding her away from the red lyrium poking through the ground like twisted fingers.

 

When the rift opens and Pride comes through, Varric thinks that the worse has come through. His bolts hit, the Seeker slices and Chuckles blasts the thing with silver-white ice. He knows Rowan is somewhere, passed along amongst the scouts with blank eyes.

 

Then, she is no-where.

 

As the rift closes, Varric can hear the screaming and for a moment, he thinks it's the rift itself. Until he sees Rowan, his Rowan, standing wreathed in flickering green and violet, screaming, no, _wailing_ , as the Rift closes. Her scream ends as sudden as it had started and she falls, seizing on the floor of the Temple as he and her other Soulmates rush to her side.

 

He cups her face as she writhes, as the Seeker tells her to stay, as Chuckles chugs a lyrium potion and lays glowing hands on her chest. Even the Nightingale joins them, tangling her fingers with her normal, non-glowing hand.

 

He is unsure whether to be relieved or terrified when she stills under their hands and chokes back a shudder when, for a still, bleak moment, her heart stops and his mark goes black.

 

But, luckily for him, trees don't always die when lightning strikes, and her first breath after Chuckles moves his hands from her chest to her Marked hand is peaceful and smooth.

 

He will never admit, that later that night, when he is alone in his rooms, he has to press a hand to his mouth to stifle a sob when he sees their Mark flickering between gold and bronze.

 

He will never tell her, nor Bianca, that for a moment, he wishes it had stayed gold.


	5. A Templars Oath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen's turn!

Cullen is unsure of the woman who has been declared the Herald. Leliana tells him she is kind and naive, while Cassandra tells him she is young and wide-eyed.

 

The reports from his men say differently. They had seen the Herald when she walked with Cassandra, had seen her wail in pain on the bridge and close the Breach. They spoke of a warrior with red hair and green eyes who killed the Divine, a Saint who saved them, a child who stood up to the Breach and closed the first Rift.

 

The woman he sees before him is none of these things.

 

Rowan Kent is a woman with fire colored curls and a smile like sunshine. There are tear tracks on her cheeks and she carries a nug like a child in her arms. His first impression is that she must be kind and gentle for such a thing to be. 

 

When Cassandra introduces them, he feels ice down his spine when she says his words like it is nothing, a foregone conclusion that yes, he will lead their army. 

 

His words had helped him through and after Kinloch, seeing Commander like he was  _ meant _ for something. Even after demons and abominations had screamed at him that he should just give in, that they would make him a Commander if he just gave in. When Meredith saw his Mark and looked away in disgust, saying that Templars must never follow their Marks. 

 

He had seen her own blackened Mark only once and had feared the words. 

 

_ ‘Hello Templar Stannard, I am Enchanter William. Welcome to the Circle’ _

 

When he finds that Rowan is an untrained mage, and an apostate at that, he is  _ scared. _ Scared of what will happen if she becomes an abomination, what will happen if she is Harrowed and fails, what will happen if she becomes Tranquil. His mind is full of possibilities as he and the others talk over one another until Rowan shouts for silence.

 

She tells them the story of her life, of her home and the lack of both Mages and Circles. That Templars are old and cruel, and no longer exist. 

 

She tells them she is not from Thedas, and Cullen is frightened of the woman in front of him. Because she is scared of him, whether or not she knows it. He is,  _ was _ , a Templar and she makes it clear if she is assigned one, she will leave.

 

So he makes a promise to her, an Oath, like any Ferelden would. He assigns himself as her Templar and offers courtship in the same sentence, and when she accepts, she blushes sunset pink.

 

She is otherworldly, and opinionated, and glows like the sun.

She is his soulmate, and he would not have her any different.


End file.
